


after the battle

by chiarascura



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, post 8x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-21 16:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18705841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiarascura/pseuds/chiarascura
Summary: once the battle ends, brienne thinks about after.





	1. fear

After.

Brienne didn’t think there would be an after.

Had she thought about it yesterday, (and she had thought about it plenty) when the Night King became an immediate threat, Brienne was less than hopeful about their prospects. Her concentration was dedicated to strategy and supply lines and battle plans. Tyrion’s optimism, a surprising statement in itself, had settled into her bones after knighthood. 

As soon as the Dothraki lights went out, despair set in. As the undead drove in on waves and waves of bodies, Brienne had thought it was the end. 

Somehow, it wasn’t. And now, after worrying for so long about this threat that was now over, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Now, it was quiet. No more preparation. Time for rest. 

Her chamber was too quiet. Even when the soldiers were tense and scared, sounds of life had permeated the castle. Everything was too quiet, with the dead cleaned up as best they could and most of their forces decimated. The howling wind had died down, as if it too knew there was peace. Now, silence. 

In her chamber, Brienne made more noise than she had to, as she cleaned the worst of the blood and grime from her armor. She had bathed in the wooden tub brought to her room, and the lukewarm water was now black with the worst of the gore. Exhaustion crept into her bones, but she couldn’t sit still long enough to truly relax.

Every time she closed her eyes, the horrible grimaces of the undead filled her mind’s eye. Waxy skin, blue eyes, howling rictus. That could have been her, that could have been-- 

Brienne jolted upright. She set her armor back on its stand, and paced around her room to work out the burst of energy that came with avoiding her dark thoughts. She had never craved the company of others, and had enjoyed being on her own. Solitude had been enough until now. 

Had it?

Was Jaime awake, full of nervous energy the way she was? She knew he was hale and as healthy as could be expected. She had seen him, when the battle ended as abruptly as blowing out a candle. After the dead had dropped, Jaime’s and Pod’s faces had a slackjawed surprise, one she imagined she mirrored. 

It was womanly of her, to show her feelings. But she couldn’t have done anything else. Were they truly alive? She shuffled the three steps to where Jaime stood against the wall, trudged through the undead at their feet, and wrapped her arms around him. They were both alive, and he was warm and solid and real. She had never held him before, not of his own free will. When she lifted him from the floor of the bath, he had been nearly unconscious. She had not actually held much of anyone since her girlhood. 

After a moment his own arms came up and around her back, and his head relaxed into her shoulder. His breath shuddered, and she exhaled in turn. They stood like that for a long moment, convincing themselves and each other, before they parted. 

She lurched another step and Pod met her halfway, falling into her embrace. She couldn’t have lived with herself if she had let him die, and it was more reassuring to hold him than she could bear. It would have been embarrassing if any others had lived to witness it. Everyone else in the courtyard focused on their own loss and shock. 

Brienne could still smell the smoke and sweat and salt even hours later. It lingered in the air, although inside the castle was somewhat better than outside. The hallways were empty. It was worse than the previous night when everyone had been occupied and no one could linger. Now, there was a void. 

It wasn’t until she saw the low embers in the hearth until she realized where she was going. The hall looked exactly as it had the previous night, although the chairs they used had been moved back to the walls. The spot where she knelt hours before drew her gaze instinctively. Had it truly only been hours? It felt like weeks, months, lifetimes ago. _Ser Brienne_. She dragged her eyes away, and turned to the grate where low embers flickered. She lifted a poker to rekindle the flame.

Heat. Despite the blaze from dragons and trenches, the heat never penetrated her bones. The chill had sunk in deep, something about the white walker magic had drawn every ounce of warmth from her body. The memory made her shiver, even as she stood beside a gently rising flame. 

She pulled one of the chairs from its place against the wall, and sat before the fire. Her fingers tingled as they heated up, and she rubbed her hands together. She was real, and warm, and alive. 

The same couldn’t be said for most of her men. The undead had smashed through their ranks at a speed she hadn’t anticipated. She had failed at leading them, otherwise there would be more than a handful left alive. Jaime had stepped up when he could. 

She bent towards the fire, rested elbows on knees and put her face in her palms. Jaime. 

He had chosen to serve under her, and stepped up when soldiers needed direction. He had come to find her when they were separated, had followed her and fought beside her and saved her life as she had saved his. 

“Ser Brienne. Couldn’t sleep?” 

Like he had been conjured by her thoughts, his voice drifted from the doorway to her left. Slowly, she raised her head and met his eyes.


	2. knowing

“I imagine we are the only two in the whole castle not dead asleep from exhaustion.” A flicker in his eyes acknowledged the horrible play on words, how close they had come to death.

_Alive,_ Brienne thought. _He is alive, and so am I._

She didn’t laugh at his words, but she did exhale. She knew what he meant, and he understood her expression well enough. 

“Won’t you come sit?” she asked, and rose to pull another chair beside her. 

He didn’t move from his place in the doorway, but his eyes followed her as she made space for him. His expression was familiar: thin line between his brows, slight upturn of the corner of his mouth, eyes bright and warm. He wore it hours earlier in this room, when he set down his drink, and resolve turned to action. 

She tilted her head in question, unnerved at his silence. “Ser Jaime?” Her voice echoed in the vast space, and it seemed to resolve something in him. He dipped his head, acquiescence or resignation? she wondered, and finally walked towards her. 

At his movement she sat down, and Jaime dragged his chair closer until they sat side by side and their knees brushed. She recoiled instinctually, conditioned after years of pulling away from others’ touch, but caught herself. 

She forced herself to relax, stared at the floor and counted her breaths. She tried to shift her concentration from the lightest feeling of pressure against her knee. Jaime leaned back in his chair, that easy self-assurance at knowing his place in the world, unconcerned by the contact. 

They were each dressed in soft clothes, simple tunics and trousers, as armor seemed unnecessary at this point. She wasn’t as self-conscious as she once was in men’s clothing, especially since this was infinitely more comfortable than a dress. And yet, the desire to armor herself, to protect herself, still overcame her. 

Brienne wished she had something in her hands. She tucked her hair behind her ear, and started picking at her fingernails. Why in the world was she so nervous? Jaime was her friend, Jaime respected her and fought beside her and knew her heart. There was no reason to feel the bubble of anxiety in her chest, the tingling of blood rushing to her fingers and toes, her heart pounding loudly through her veins.

She wanted to say something, to fill the silence, but she had never been one for starting small talk. The fire offered no suggestions for how to discuss the weather or politics or celebrating the feeling of _alive._

However, Brienne was good at being direct.

“Why did you knight me?” When she turned from the fire to look at him, he was already looking at her. 

His gaze was focused, but at her words he cast his eyes down and the corners of his mouth turned upward, not a real smile but the memory of one. Like he was remembering the moment with as much fondness and fulfillment as she did. “I should have done it a long time ago.” His voice was grave. “You deserve it more than anyone I have ever known.” He paused, looked into her eyes. “Also, I had to one-up the giant-fucker.” 

A snort escaped Brienne before she could stop it, and laughter bubbled in her chest. “Jealous?” She smiled, a strange feeling. She hadn’t smiled like this since she was a girl, wide and joyous and filling her with light, and here she had done it twice in a day. Even with the despair that had engulfed her during the long night, it was easier with Jaime around.

Jaime’s eyes dropped to her mouth. Brienne felt her face heat, and her smile slipped away. 

Intellectually, she knew what his expression meant. She had seen it on other men looking at other women. A precursor to disappearing together, a lingering look between a couple in love. Not dissimilar from the looks Tormund had given her, but infinitely more tender. It was the false look boys had given her before they tormented her with _Brienne the Beauty._

Brienne had denied herself for her entire life. She turned her back on being a lady when she took up arms. She avoided romantic thoughts after her public humiliation. She gave up on the dream of being a knight… and yet. Here she was. Knighted, by this man. 

The room felt too small with both of them in it. She stood, sending her chair sliding backwards, before realizing she wanted to do it. The world tilted for a moment, and she went to stand beside the hearth. She turned back to look where Jaime still sat, and watched his face watching her. He hadn’t answered her previous question. 

“Jaime,” she said, his name tender in her mouth. “Why did you come to Winterfell?” 

He paused, clearly considering his words. He was never a wordsmith, not like his brother, and neither was she. He could be quick with a sharp word, a mockery, something designed to cut and wound. She had been on the other side of those words too often before Harrenhal. Not as much after, though. The softness of his words in the yard earlier that day had put her off her guard.

As he thought over his words, he stood and joined her. Up close, the firelight glittered in his eyes and his skin was soft and clean from the grime of the day. 

She could see in his eyes what he wanted to say. _To fight for the living. To survive. To win._ Brienne wouldn’t be surprised if he dissembled, made a joke about nobility over self-preservation. It was how he survived being the Kingslayer; if he made light of it before the other person could hurt him, it wouldn’t hurt. He hadn’t done that since coming to Winterfell, but she knew him. 

His lips parted to say it, but instead. “Because I love you.” 

The words were a punch in the chest, and the air left her lungs. There was no deflection, no jest, no rejection. Instead, more softness. Truth.

She had thought she was ready. She turned away to face the large empty room. “Please don't, Jaime.” 

“Why is that so hard to hear, Brienne?” The way he said her name, like it was precious, soft, important. All the things she wasn't, or didn't feel. “Look at me.”

His Kingsguard Commander voice had her turning before she could think about it. The voice he used on soldiers to follow orders, the voice he convinced the Brave Companions of her worth in sapphires. She met his eyes for only a moment, but the love radiating from them made her flinch. _Brienne the Beauty._

The voice was familiar, and the words were not. “I love you. I want to be by your side. I had a long time to think, riding north from King’s Landing.” 

She swallowed, kept her gaze averted. Jaime continued, determination coloring his voice. “When I met you, I thought the worst of you, and I am ashamed. You stood up for me. You protected me as best you could, and you stood by your oath. Even when I told you the truth about myself, my worst deeds and the real story I kept hidden for my own pride, you still. You stayed with me. You have known me, deeper than almost anyone.” As he spoke, his voice grew raw and desperate, losing its self-assurance. The change drew her eyes once again to his. 

“And,” he paused as a self-deprecating grin grew. His eyes shone, gold and green in the firelight. “Even when you bristled and pushed me away, I know you. You may not have told me all of your secrets, but I know enough. You deserve to be _known_ , Brienne. You deserve someone who you can share yourself with, and trust and love and protect.

“No one in this world deserves to be a knight more than you. You are all that is honorable and just in this world. You deserve to have been knighted by someone better than me, someone worthy of your trust. Instead, I hope I can do something with my shit of a life, and raise you up. 

“You’ve made me a better man. I would have remained exactly the same had I not met you. I was living in Cersei’s world, and I wouldn’t have done a damn thing differently. When I lost my hand… You wouldn’t let me die or give up. You made me see reality the way it was, not the way I wanted it to be. I would still be that shit of a man.” Brienne’s eyes grew glassy and hot, and she blinked to keep the tears from pouring down her cheeks. The man she had met was so radically different from the one who stood before her, it was almost impossible to reconcile. 

“I could not have lived in this world if you had died tonight, and I can only thank the seven from now until I die for that.” He reached out with his good hand, and with the softest of touches, brushed their fingers together. No more than that, just a touch, and yet it sent wildfire through her hand, up her arm, through her entire body. She shivered, and his eyes tracked the movement. 

“Brienne, I love you. And, I think you… feel something for me. I won't push you, but you must know.” He moved forward, into her space, and it took everything inside her not to step back. 

His hand slid into hers and laced their fingers together. He squeezed, gently. “Ser Brienne, can I kiss you?”

She didn’t answer, but her lips parted. His face was so open, more raw and vulnerable than she had ever seen him, and she leaned down to press her mouth against his. It was clumsy, and she knew she was awkward. Their noses bumped into each other, and she caught more of his beard than his lips. She didn’t know where to put her hands or her mouth or-- 

“Please, Jaime,” she said. He nodded, as if understanding her unspoken and unformed question. He took their laced hands and placed hers on his shoulder. He lifted both of his hands up, used his good hand to tilt her head down and kissed her back. He drew her out of her shell, making her chase him for each kiss, until she was burning for more. 

“You’re alive,” she said between pressing kisses to his mouth, relishing each feeling. “You’re real, and alive, and here, and I love you too.” She felt him melt in her arms at the words, the tension disappearing and intensity filling its place. 

Jaime grew impatient and pulled his head back. He paused until she opened her eyes to look at him. “Let’s find a better place than this. Seven forbid Tormund appear and try to steal you away.”


	3. next

After.

Brienne hadn’t considered the _after_. 

As she lay in bed beside Jaime, her mind was blank. Her focus on the present had avoided all thoughts of _after the battle_ since she wasn’t even sure if she would live. This, being with Jaime, hadn’t even crossed her mind as a possibility. 

She had gotten herself off before, had spent so much time alone that it was inevitable. But compared to this night, with Jaime. Gods. Everything was different.

Their heavy breathing filled the room. The thick silence was gone, filled instead by the sounds of them, together. Life-affirming breath. 

“I love you,” she said, just because she could. She turned on her side, with her arm under one head and body draped across Jaime’s chest. She wanted to be as close to his skin as possible, wanted to feel the life running through his veins and hear his heart pounding in his chest, a mirror to her own heart. She could just say the words, and they meant something, and he said them back as he pressed a kiss to her hair. 

“I wonder what the Queen will do.” The Dragon Queen hadn’t hidden her desire to head south and claim the Iron Throne. Now that the Dothraki and Unsullied armies had been crushed, Brienne wondered how that changed her plans.

Jaime said nothing, but at the mention of the Queen, he froze. His fingers traced lazy circles on the back of Brienne’s wrist, and his other arm was curled beneath her head. The movement paused as his body tensed, for just a moment, and then resumed. The easy glow that had cocooned her in their shared warmth dimmed. He did not relax.

She had to ask. A self-inflicted wound. “Now what? What do you want to do?”

Jaime shifted, pulled his body out from under hers. He sat on the edge of the narrow bed with his back curved away from her. An uneasy feeling filled the pit of her stomach, and she pulled the heavy duvet over her body. She wished for her armor, rather than vulnerable nakedness. 

He had promised to fight for the living, to serve under her. He had accomplished his goal.

“I don’t know,” he said, after a long time. He stood to pull on his breeches, and shuffled around the room to tie his gold hand back on. “I don’t know what I want to do.” He pulled the straps tight. It wasn’t comfortable, and earlier when he took it off the first time, she had pressed kisses into the irritated skin.

Brienne waited. She didn’t want to push. Just as she made her own decision, Jaime must make his. “What do you want, Jaime?” 

He finally turned to look at her, and the pain in his eyes sent her reeling backwards. 

“I want you.” He set his cup down again, ran his hand through his beard, folded his other arm beneath his elbow, crossing his body and making it smaller. “That’s all I know.”

“What about…” Brienne didn’t want to say her name, but even the evocation of her filled the room with her spectre. Cersei Lannister waited in King’s Landing. In a short while, the Dragon Queen would likely march to depose her. Brienne realized her mention of the Queen probably brought Cersei to Jaime’s mind, not Daenerys. Stupid of her.

Brienne wasn’t sure what she herself would do. Lady Sansa might ride with her brother, taking what was left of the remains of the Northern Army. There was no question that she would follow Lady Sansa to the ends of the earth to protect her, even after being released from Lady Catelyn’s oath. She had committed her service and her life to protecting the strongest and smartest woman she had ever known.

Jaime closed off even further. “Cersei has no need of me. She can fight her own war.”

She hated the sense of relief that gave her. “Lady Sansa may ride south, to fight.” 

Jaime stilled. He turned his head sharply to meet her eyes, finally. He seemed to realize then, that Brienne would follow. 

He looked at his feet again, let out an unhappy laugh. “I always was the stupidest Lannister. Cersei was right about that.” 

“Don't say that,” she said. “it's not true. You may not be a political mind or a ruthless one like your family, but you are not stupid.” She felt white heat rising, rage at Cersei’s dismissal of Jaime, her ignorance at what she had abused and thrown away. Cersei would not survive the coming battle. Brienne would make sure of that.

“Jaime,” she said. “If I ride south, I will fight against the Lannisters. I don’t expect you to fight at my side against her. I couldn’t do that. If you need to go…” She couldn’t finish that thought.

She took a deep breath. “I love you, but just as you know me, I know you too. You are a good man, and you chose to do what’s right when it mattered. The war for the living is over, and the Stark women are well protected. They are, in fact, remarkable. 

“Your commitments are done, your oath completed. I don’t expect you to stay with… the North.” It hurt to say the words, but she got them out. She couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, and shifted on the bed to curl up further. “You can go back to Casterly Rock and live out your life.” 

Jaime had spent so long being shamed for his actions. He did what was right, even when it was the hard thing to do. He had stayed silent about the Mad King for half of his life, even though it might have redeemed him in the eyes of the realm. He preferred being reviled to being known, and did not speak up for himself. Now, he had another choice. 

He moved back over to the bed and dropped to one knee. “Do you love her more than me?” When she looked up, his eyes held more pain. 

Brienne exhaled hard. “Please don't ask that of me.” 

He dropped his head, til it almost rested on the thin mattress. Resignation lined his whole form.

She wanted to ask an equally painful question, to hurt him the same way, but it wasn't fair. She knew what divided loyalties felt like.

“This isn't about loyalty or honor or oaths, Jaime. This is about your heart. What do you want?”

“I want to die, Brienne. I had been so ready, tonight. I thought this was it, the ultimate commitment. To die in service to protecting humanity.” He stood again and paced across the room. “Now I have to choose? Again! Family or love, honor or oaths. I thought I wouldn't have to do this. And here we are.”

Brienne’s eyes filled with tears, and her heart broke for him. “I know,” she said. “Me too.” 

Death hung over them. The Night King had taken so much from them, even if they won. 

She rose from the bed, and stood confident in her nakedness. As she approached Jaime, the fear in his face returned, like a wild animal on alert. Gently, gently, she took his face in her hands. “I don’t know what to do, but I know I love you.” His eyes filled with tears. “I will support you in all things, Jaime. For now, please come back to bed.” 

His head dropped, and the tears fell with it. She pressed a kiss to his soft hair and drew him into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around her waist and once again she relished his solid form, the heat and life in him. 

The fire crackled in her tiny fireplace, and she could hear his heartbeat. She pulled away and trailed her fingers down the length of his right arm. She kept her eyes on his face as she undid the straps on his gold hand, as gentle and as tender as she could be. His eyes focused on her fingers, calloused and rough as they were, and once she was done, she set the hand on the table. 

She brought his arm up and kissed the place where his hand once was, where he had sacrificed himself for her, where he had lost his sense of self-worth. His eyes closed and he exhaled a heavy sigh. 

“Brienne, I want to be with you. I came to Winterfell for you, and I left everything behind. I don’t intend to go back, but if that is what you will, I want to be by your side.” He finally met her gaze again. “I choose you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She cursed the womanly reveal of emotion, but let it go. Jaime loved her, because she was a woman and because she was herself. He knew her, all parts of her, and wanted to be with her. 

She leaned in to kiss him again, and he tilted his head upward eagerly to meet her. Another flame of desire flickered through her, heat and happiness and contentedness. She led him back to the bed, and pulled him into her arms. He rested his head on her breast, and she encircled him in her embrace. The silence was less empty, less hollow. 

“I can’t believe we won,” she said. 

“I think that I have won the most,” Jaime said. “Like you said, I’m alive, I’m real, I’m not an undead, I still have most of my limbs.” He turned to look at her. “And I have you.” 

After can wait.


End file.
